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“Hi, my name is Maisy,” said the freckled-nosed, white-furred English setter/Saint Bernard mix.

“And my name’s Eddy,” the brindle-colored Siberian husky mix said.

“We are writing this week’s column because Mom is busy paying vet hospital bills,” Maisy explained.

“Unless she’s watching me go to the bathroom,” Eddy said, “Can’t a guy get some privacy ’round here?”

“She would not be watching if you had not eaten something you should not have.”

“Hey, you ate the same thing.”

“Did I?” Maisy asked, “Because I am certain I did no such thing.”

“You kinda did.”

“Actually, the X-rays showed you were the only one who ate the broken pieces of glass.” Maisy said, “I am a delicate eater and only ate the treats.”

“Hey, I got some treats, too!”

“That is because you scarf your food and eat like an animal.”

“I am an animal,” he said, “and so are you.”

“Am not. I am a lady.”

“This is not the Aristocats, and you aren’t Marie,” Eddy said.

“Then, we shall be the Aristodogs,” Maisy said. “Well, I will. You are a bit uncouth.”

“Eddy!” Mom yelled.

“Looks like you are in trouble again,” Maisy laughed, “better go take your medicine.”

“In the laundry room you go,” Mom said, carrying a heaping plate of something that looked like stew past us. “I don’t want Maisy eating your food.”

“What is that delicious smell?” Eddy asked, running after Mom.

“Ladies first!” Maisy yelled, hip-checking Eddy into the doorjamb.

“Now, you’re all uncouthy,” Eddy said.

“Sorry, Maisy,” Mom blocked the door, “it’s not for you. I have your breakfast in the kitchen.”

“Why does Eddy get the stinky delicious smelling food and I get the same plain old boring, dry food?” Maisy whined.

“Duh,” Eddy said, smiling through a mouthful of wet food, “she likes me better.”

“This is ridiculous,” Maisy said. “I’m calling management.”

“Good luck with that,” Eddy laughed. “Mom is management.”

“Shh, listen,” Maisy shoved a paw in Eddy’s face. “Mom and Dad are arguing.”

“Why are there frozen, dated and time-stamped bags of dog poop alongside the house?” Dad asked.

“Because I haven’t found the last piece of glass,” Mom said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s your fault,” Mom poured herself a cup of orange juice.

“Explain,” Dad said.

“Last night, you complained that the garage smelled, so I put the bags outside, but it got cold overnight, so they froze.”

“First, don’t try to blame this on me,” Dad said. “Second, the garage smelled like a bucketful of dog poop because of you.”

“Actually, it was because of Eddy,” Mom said.

“And third, have you seen my rubber mallet?”

“OK, listen,” Mom said. “This is how it went down. Since I had yet to purchase a poop sifting colander, I scooped up Eddy’s poop with the salad tongs, AKA the poop tongs, ran to the garage, placed the poop on a large piece of saran wrap, put on gloves, used a putty knife ...”

“My putty knife?” Dad interrupted; Mom kept talking.

“... to dice the poop, covered the poop with a top layer of plastic wrap and pounded it, used a rolling pin to flatten the poop, and found three pieces of glass!”

“Pounded it with what?” Dad asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Something poundy, just let it be.”

“I’m not going to let it be,” Dad said. “Did you or did you not use my rubber mallet to pound the poop?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he said.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?” Dad asked.

“That’s it, just ‘fine’.”

Dad took a deep breath. “Back to the frozen bags of poop.”

“Right, don’t worry about ’em, cuz I have a plan.”

“Should I ask?”

“You don’t need to, cuz I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Let’s hear it,” Dad said.

“Well, I finally got the colander, and I’m going to set it inside one of the gigantic popcorn bowls, and then I’m gonna dump one bag of poop in the bowl, based on the date and time stamp, oldest bag first, obviously, and then I’m gonna pour boiling water over it, and it’s gonna thaw the poop and make a poop soup,” Mom said in one breath.

“Also, I think I’m gonna have to use multiple pans of boiling water, so it might take a while. And once it’s soup, probably more like a bisque, I’ll be able to find the glass in the bottom of the colander. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna be able to break up frozen poop with the hose, and I didn’t think you’d want me to put the poop in the microwave. However, I did like my friend’s idea about adding essential oils.”

And then Dad did the strangest thing. He just walked away. No comment. No eyebrow raise. Nuthin’.

“Go ahead and say it!” Mom yelled. “You’re pretty proud of my outside-the-box thinkin’, aren’t ya?”

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine what?” Mom asked.

“That’s it, just ‘fine’.”

Krista Vance is a former Champaign resident. While she now calls northern Colorado home, she spent five wonderful years here and misses great friends, corn and big-sky sunsets.

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